


Happy Christmas, Westeros !

by Book_of_Kells



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Four Christmases, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_of_Kells/pseuds/Book_of_Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hooking up at the holidays...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Christmas, Westeros !

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything but I just enjoy playing with it !

The lounge décor had the subtlety of a neon blue nuclear blast.

Whoever got paid for the azure viciousness, had to have giggled like a fiend when he cashed his check. The ceiling’s white expanse was broken up with miles of track lighting, its strobes alternating in shades of blue & green. Discreetly hid in the black metal along with the lights, were speakers crooning “Im dreaming of a White Christmas” by the great Bing with an underlying tech beat. The overall take was trendy with a side order of vomit. 

Festive party goers lined up at the bar, slipping their martinis dirty & all other types of booze. Everyone was out for a good time before the unenviable trek into the holidays mowed them down. Black & white wait staff served their patrons at tables as well as on the side. People moved in groups and singles, talking, laughing, blowing off steam.

Stark, modern Christmas decorations were interspersed throughout the club from reds to greens on bone white trees. It looked like skeletons had been stuck in vases of ornaments in various sizes, with gold bows on top. Very Nightmare Before Xmas.

Across the lounge, a tall drink of water stood in the entrance, surveying the meat market before him with obvious trepidation. Indecision oozed from him leaving an almost visible cloud of hesitancy in his wake. He had a pinched look behind silver wire glasses that pulled at the light scarring at his hairline. Moisture rose into his black spiky hair, making it glisten in the overhead harshness either due to his nervousness or being encased in a wool greatcoat & the corresponding suit. The red plaid scarf which hung around his neck, gave him the air of professionalism usually reserved for the erudite.

Navigating the crowd might have been a problem for a man of his over large stature, but there was a litheness in his step that most in the room missed. He approached the bar with strength in his stride that one sees in pro athletes, but not with their self-confidence. The man brushed by a waiter with a smiled apology but continued on his way to the quarry he had seen from the door.

A lone woman sat at the bar, her thumb rubbing the flute stem of her champagne. Red hair was twisted at the back of her head, its intense color contained for the moment. A liberal fringe of straightened bangs framed a heart shaped face, heightening unblemished creamy skin. The woman wore a black halter dress with silver lace overlay. It wasn’t the most christmasy of wardrobe choices but the vague scowl on her beautiful face said she wasn’t in the holiday spirit. 

“Hi.” The man said as he sided up to her at end of the bar. 

“Hi.” She returned with a fake smile before looking at the bar shelves.

“My name is Sandor. What's your name?” The man said with the interest of an enthusiastic puppy. 

“Sansa.” She replied with detachment. It was obvious she wanted to be somewhere else or with someone else.

 

“Sansa. That's a really beautiful name. It sounds like a name of a flower. Obviously I know that it's not a flower, but it sounds like it could be. “ Sandor’s words ran like a wild horse in hopes of capturing her attention. All he did was make Sansa shift uncomfortably, looking for an escape route. 

“I like flowers.” He stated awkwardly. Sansa took a gulp of champagne, needing the fortification for what was happening to her.

“Smelling them, stuff like that. Sending them to people, it's good.” Sandor finished lamely.

Sandor could see that what he was doing wasn’t getting him anywhere with her. Sansa seemed to staring around the room at the lounge lizards socializing, chatting laughingly. But god did she look amazing in that dress.

“Where are you from?” Sandor asked trying to engage her from a different direction. Anything he could do to calm the tension in the air, but get her talking.

“Winterfell.” It took Sansa a minute to respond as if there was a limit on her personal information.

Sandor brightened, a smile eased the timidity of his face. He leaned across the bar a bit in his eagerness.

“Really? I'm a big fan of Winterfell. I'm a... Who isn't, right? You're close enough to the Wall that you can really enjoy it.” Sansa took another gulp of champagne & signaled for another one. This Sandor guy was rattling off at the mouth & there was no reason to endure it sober. 

“But you’re also far enough north that you got a small town feel.” He nodded as he finished his rant, clueless that she was thinking about running for the door.

“Did you go to school out there?”

“Yeah, I did. I went to White Harbor.” Sansa cut him off before he had finished with the last word of his sentence. Sandor hadn’t figured out yet that she really wasn’t into him.

“That's perfect, that's a great school. What did you major in..?” Sandor pushed off the bar, trying not to crowd her. 

“Singing.” Her replies were cutting & the annoyance at him was clear. 

“It's great.” He took a breath, looking at her again. Displeasure poured off her in waves. Even her lip was starting to curl.

“Those are really beautiful earrings, by the way.” He reached out not quite touching her chandelier silver earrings but enough that Sansa’s light displeasure changed to extreme irritation.

“They do a nice job of complementing your...” He trailed off as the cobalt eyes lasered in his direction.

“Sandor, I'm gonna stop you right there.” Sansa held up her hand in warning. She was completely done with this rodeo & cowboy Sandor didn’t make eight seconds. Why did he look surprised about being thrown over? Well it was time to enlighten him, she thought. 

“Because on paper you've done everything right. You've took an interest in my personal history. You've complemented my accessories. Blah, blah, blah.” The last three words punched him in the face like a boxers right glove.

But Sansa wasn’t finished. She wasn’t going to let him go gently.

“If we'd met in college, our relationship, probably would've developed between us. Which I would have come to regret because I would have found out that you're just as boring and polite in the bedroom as you have been during this, god awful conversation.” 

A slapped shocked look Sandor wore might have been comical but his mouth gaped at her like a landed trout. He had never thought a woman would ever talk to him in such a manner, not a well bred one anyway.

“Okay, Sansa…” He started in futility.

Sansa cut him off again. “If I wanted a nice asexual pen pal you'd be at the top of my list. We'd just l-chat all night long. “She waved her drink at his chest, really getting on a board with the derision. 

“LOL. Giggles.” Sansa scrunched her nose, giggling sarcastically.

“But unfortunately, that's not what I'm looking for.” All the charmed politeness was gone. Sansa leveled her large blue eyes on his grey ones, honing in for the kill.

“I want a man whose hand doesn't shake when he puts it up my shirt. Do you know what I'm saying?” The hard stare left no doubt that she was serious. This was a woman who knew how to demand for what she wanted, & make a man pay if he failed. 

Sandor quivered. ”Okay. Sansa, if I could just...”

Sansa was off the stool & grabbing her purse. “Save it, Sandor. Im not looking for a BFF.” She was tall though not much shorter than he in those hooker heels.

“Sansa, please.” He started to say as she walked by, heading for the door. Catching a look at those long legs ending in 4 inch heels, Sandor came to a decision.

Yanking off his glasses, Sandor rasped loudly,”Bitch, I'm talking to you!”

Most of the immediate conversations died instantly. Those self same partyers, who had blithely been sucking down their Christmas cheer, turned to what the spectacle that was about to play out in front of them. There were even a few nervous twitters from the proper ones at the use of his language.

Sansa had stopped cold, turning in his direction, he met the hard stare once again. There was about 10 feet separating them, like two gunslingers on main street at high noon.

“What did you call me?” Sansa hissed. She was so angry that even the air around her started vibrating with the force of her aggression.

“I didn't stutter.” Sandor shot back. “Oh you sure can talk the talk, you crazy little slut. But, can you deliver the goodies?”

The bar flies scrambled back so that the path between them was wider. The murmuring got louder & more than a few eyebrows got raised, mostly they seem to enjoy the show. Even the music & lights seemed to dim under the weight of their emotions.

Sandor shoved away from the bar, stalking her at a slow ambling pace. His quarry could run but he would hunt her, track her to ground. He wasn’t leaving here without his prize.

“I don't give a damn about Winterfell. I hate those cheap earrings.”

Closer he moved with that agile grace that she had missed. Sansa was confused that he would be so fixated on her, completely destroying her impression of a limp metrosexual that read all the right books on how to pick up women. As he stopped in front of her, she was unable to move.

“I'm from the westerlands and this is how we handle our business in Clegane Keep, mamma.”

Before she say register his intentions, Sandor slipped his arm around her back, jerking her body so that is was flush against him. He grasped the back of her long neck, holding her place. The slight gasp of surprise was swallowed as his lips crushed against hers. Never had she felt the sheer enormity of panic mixed with arousal that his kiss had induced. 

“Get your hands off me, right now.” She seethed at him, pulling & shoving away.”Or I will take you to your knees in front of this entire bar.”

The firm set of those full lips parted slightly as he glared at her with steely resolve. The heat of his ferociousness melted a wintery part of herself that she had kept frosted & leashed. Desire was supposed to be controlled, never allowed to run free. If she couldn’t control herself, her wants and needs, she would be lost.

Large hands slid down her back stealing her concentration once more. It was a losing battle as Sandor cupped her buttocks to wrench her back closer to his firm body. Sansa could feel the rigidity beneath the soft clothes. Yet, he was in no way a soft man.

“Promise?” He whispered against her lips before claiming them once more.

The catcalls from the other patrons were loud though they fell into background noise. Since it seemed as though fight was over & the fair lady had succumbed to the man’s advances, many turned back to their drinks & companions, believing that the fun was over. 

As he released her luscious lips again, Sandor whispered, “I live down the street!”

She grinned in clear invitation, “The bathroom’s closer.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I am tired & crazy ideas start crawling out of the woodwork ! I changed the opening scene of the movie a bit so that they weren't role playing, more of a standalone were two people hook up at a bar.  
> I hope you enjoyed even if it is almost valentines day !


End file.
